


Gravity of You

by ImmortalDesire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Wings, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Distopia, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fear of Flying, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Flying, Japanese Bands, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Klance Reverse Bang 2018, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Magic, Multi, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Romance, Songfic, Team 80 :), Wings AU, blades of marmora as a band, blue lion - Freeform, energy caverns, klance, klance reverse bang piece #80, melancholic Keith, parasitic Galra, poly relatonships, research experiments, starset music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14438646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalDesire/pseuds/ImmortalDesire
Summary: Alternate Universe | Exposure to extreme levels of pollution brought a new generation of children in the year 2045. Thirty years later, it became normal to have wings, especially wings linked to element-based “magical” abilities.Angst | Keith’s wings are deteriorating--he can’t stop mulling over how he left Lance, America behind him, and Lance’s sudden reappearance throws him off-balance. Shiro has issues balancing two relationships and feels distant to Keith, adding to his growing depression.Adventure | The Earth suffers from pollution more-and-more every day. Not only that, but it’s believed that an apocalypse is just beyond the horizon. Scientists have been studying it for a while now, Shiro and Matt two graduate students studying the unnatural rate of erosion for their master’s thesis.AN | This is the fic for piece #80 for the Klance Reverse Bang 2018! :)





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know it’s been a long time since I’ve put anything out, but consider this piece the jump into activity again! While the fic is definitely not fully-realized, I pushed to at least finish part one for the posting day, with a goal of over 5,000 words met :) (there are literally over 9,000 words haha). 
> 
> I am unfortunately very busy with college work and my two jobs at the moment, so naturally I haven’t been able to write much. However! I finally graduate next week, so expect to see part two (the good stuff happens in this part I promise haha) posted the second week of May (since I’ll have ample time to get this fic rolling)! After that there will be one final part, but it may not be posted until at least a week later since I happen to have cosplay obligations for the upcoming convention in June. At least you can take comfort in knowing that the fic will end, albeit a very open ending it will be (I’ll let ya’ll decide whether it should be continued or not because it’ll turn into quite the monster if it is with the way that it’s going to end)!
> 
> Since this is a songfic, I created a small playlist (https://8tracks.com/sollixia/the-gravity-of-you) to go with the fic, and I may still add onto it in the future (and suggestions for songs to add are welcome as well).
> 
> Note: I’ve never actually been to Japan, but I can imagine what it would look like based off my simple research? I can never truly know until I go myself, though. Also, this is my first Voltron fic, so feel free to point out any oocness if you think I’m failing at keeping them in-character (I’m used to criticism as a writing graduate anyway lol).
> 
> Now I’d like to thank the lovely artist that set this piece in motion, Shy! You can visit Shy’s tumblr at haikoohoe.tumblr.com, but I hope to showcase the artwork in the fic given the artist's permission in the future.
> 
> I’d also like to thank the beta, Emili, for all the advice during this fast-paced journey that was writing this fic. Emili’s a great person to work with :) You can follow Emili’s tumblr at a-carefully-curated-mess.tumblr.com
> 
> For now, hope you enjoy part one for the 80th Klance Reverse Bang piece!
> 
> -the Writer, bdawg (or theseapalace.tumblr.com, to which I’m revamping in May woot!)

## Prelude

Ambient light throws harsh shadows across the stage floor, and causes a sweat to break at each band member’s temples. Not a second later, the yellow is replaced by white, and the shadows soften when the back lights highlight the scene with violet. A gentle mist tickles the raised faces, and white fog billows up from raised platforms flanking the stage from either side. The performers close their eyes, allowing the melancholic resolution to cool their heated bodies. It is a brief moment of solitude, the audience swinging lit screens of various sizes as high as they can, but it cannot last more than that: silence isn’t acceptable at a concert.

The singer jerks his head forward and pulls the mic stand back toward his face. “Alright! Anyone miss when we did covers?” he shouts into the mic, voice raspy from the previous song’s scream verse.

There are varying degrees of responses—to include plastic cups flying up—from simple shouts of “yes,” a mantra of “Mamora,” “Blades,” to even a “more original!” The singer laughs at the sporadic sea below him, and waves his hand when he suspects a mosh pit is starting.

“Okay, okay! Since I’m not very good at egging you on, we’re just gonna roll with it—so don’t go too crazy on me now, young mamorans!” The hanging lights shift so that the singer is spotlighted, and the fog curls around his legs before making the sacrificial descent over the stage ledge—or creep toward the drummer. “One of my favorites from my life in America just released a new album. Felt I had to do them justice with a song now.” The singer chuckles at a particularly rabid fan waving his shirt back-and-forth above him. “This is Back to the Earth, Starset,” he breathes into the mic, back-lights tilting upward to highlight his back violet.

The electronica cuts back the vocal chaos of the audience that tests the capability of the singer’s ear plugs, and the front lights cast blue across his pale face. He grips the mic with both hands and leans close to it, ready for the quick start. 

“And the worrrrrld, pull me hiiiiigh…” the singer draws out, eyes closed at first. When he cracks them open to gaze at the audience, he spots a familiar face. Cropped chocolate brown hair, tan skin, and tall as all hell the teen stands amidst the crowd, body unmoving. His deep, topaz blue eyes bore into the singer’s half-lidded eyes, and he widens them instinctively. Swaying fans periodically block parts of the teen, and the singer has to suppress a shudder, a slip-up in the vocals.

The teen keeps still, the fans unaware of his stiff form. The lack of movement brings the singer to believe that this sudden appearance is an illusion. Though perturbed, he turns those glaring eyes into a focal point, using them to anchor him to the reality of the song’s moment.

“Isolateeeeed, I succumb to the weight of the worrrrrld!” The top lights hit the stage with blue and violet when the bottom lights pause their red assault, and the singer pulls the mic from the stand and steps back with his body bent forward, crying out into the mic and seemingly unaffected by the strobe effect. 

“Ohhhhh-iiii-ohhhh-iii-aaaah! Is this death or rebirth?!”

The singer tried to pay attention to the active audience during the song, but he kept finding himself faced with the burden of the blue gaze throughout. He even succumbed to the glare by meeting it with a glare of his own, foot rested against the raised platform on the right as he cried into the mic, the faint fog lapping at his black boot. And when he could no longer take the burden of the gaze, the emotional baggage it brought to light, he had walked back, taking advantage of the song’s outro. He would shake his head at the ground during the faint repeat—“falling, falling, _falling…_ ”

It was when he had looked up at the song’s conclusion, panting and yearning for water, that the figure had finally disappeared—along with the singer’s ability to mask the ache.


	2. Part One: Setting the Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Keith.”_
> 
> _Lance had angled his head so that he was looking at Keith, staring into his eyes like he could see through him. It kind of made Keith nervous. The dark-haired teen held his wild hair back from his face, halting his attempt to keep it behind his ear in favor of staring at Lance with wide eyes._
> 
> _“I...I think I like you,” Lance started, casting his eyes down. He bit his lower lip and drummed his fingers along the concrete. Keith’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t mean what Keith thought he was saying, right?_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Wait, what?” Keith stumbled. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were. He stared at Lance’s drumming fingers, so close to his own hand that rested on the concrete edge. He clenched those fingers into a fist. “What do you mean, Lance?” he continued, slowly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the first part! (Sorry it's not very action-y yet, haha) -sweats- This took over an hour to scan for where italics and aligns should be (especially when the code broke and I had to erase a million italics -.-), by the way, so apologies for that (aha)?

## Part One

#### Setting the Stage

Apartment 223 opened to an empty white kitchen and living space, the back of the white staircase that separated the two areas blocking the view of the hallway behind. The only sound in this particular apartment was the jangling of the keys as they were yanked from the deadbolt. The door was shut momentarily afterward, and then the silence persisted. 

It didn’t used to be this way.

Normal was either coming home to the tapping of keys from the living space’s high-top table, the bubbling of an experiment carefully laid out on the kitchen counter, or the popping of oil and smell of beef with fresh vegetables that followed. But now the new normal was silence, as Shiro seemed to come back later and later in the day.

And talked less. Didn’t he know Keith needed the attention?

_“I need to tell you something, Keith.”_

Keith shook his head to cast away the voice and trudged toward the staircase, totally drained from the show. He always hated the staircase. It was awkward, the way it sat smack-dab in the middle of the apartment. It was like the rock guard in Mario Party, blocking the entrance to the hallway behind it. Not only that, but the stairs faced said hallway instead of the main entrance. Apparently “modern” meant “impractical.”

The only thing Keith liked about the staircase was that it provided privacy. Shiro’s room and bathroom were in the hallway the staircase blocked, and Keith’s was the surprise at the top. It may have been isolating, but it still provided complete privacy when Keith needed it most since he could always count on no one braving the tripping-hazard bastard.

_“Can we meet outside the front gate, after school?”_

Keith boarded the staircase one at a time, even bothering to grab the only railing for support with his free hand. On a normal day he would tackle them like a skater step exercise, except he didn’t have the handicap of his mic-and-stand case on a normal day (nor did he normally wear heavy costumes).

At the top of the staircase, Keith pushed off the railing and huffed, turning back around to walk down the small hall. Apparently he really did need to lay off the junk food if such a brief flight made him this tired. As much as he hated eating healthy all the time, Shiro held a good point about seeing the difference immediately after only one slip-up. He made a mental note to work-out extra hard in the morning as well as drink one of Shiro’s infamous protein shakes.

Immediately after opening the bedroom door, Keith trudged toward his closet to put his equipment away. After this, he removed his gothic trench coat piece and hung it up before leaving the room for the bathroom to finish the disrobing process. He had to wash off all that make-up anyway.

—

Once Keith was all cleaned up, he returned to his bedroom and actually shut the door behind him this time. There was no incentive to do anything else, so he went straight for his bed, flopping right on top of the covers rather than pulling them back. Keith groaned into the pillow, hoping that he wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep since his head was playing games with him.

 _“I could_ burn _cookies on that body.”_

Keith rolled over onto his back and squinted at the ceiling. Why did he have to think of that conversation of all things? First he had to drown in memories of the last time he saw Lance, and now he had to think about the time Lance was complimenting the cross-country runners circling the high school’s block via degrees of cookie baking. It was such a ridiculous thing to remember all of a sudden that Keith started to laugh.

_Lancelot._

The laughter died just as soon as it had started and Keith frowned, trying to divert his attention to counting the unpredictable ridges in the white ceiling.

1 feather falls

_“I can’t believe the life turtle is saving you again,” Lance laughed, the blue light of the TV almost making him pale, and his brown eyes hidden by a white reflection when he looked at Keith. “You really don’t know how to play games.” Lance nudged Keith’s shoulder and grinned, though the grin looked mirthless to Keith when highlighted by the flashing light of the TV._

_They sat on faded blue bean bags, the edges scuffed and sprinkled with tiny tears, and they were hunched forward, eyes focused on the bright Sony Trinitron and fingers slipping across colorful keys on the gray controllers they gripped. Although Keith’s grip was tighter than Lance’s, the controller still managed to slip out of his hands and onto the floor._

_“Oh shut your mouth, Lance—I’m getting better,” Keith sighed, throwing his arms up and falling back into the bean bag. The bag matched his sigh, sinking in on itself._

_Lance pursued his lips and released his hold on the forward key the second his kart passed the finish line, the yellow turtle waving the flag and confetti flying into the on the TV screen. Resting his controller on his knees, he turned his head to look at Keith and leaned back, frowning at Keith’s wayward gaze and pouty face. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Keith…”_

2 feathers fall

_Shiro: Hey buddy. Sry about missing xmas. I’ll make it up nxt yr._

_Keith closed out the text message when he heard footsteps drawing near his seat in the cafeteria. He slipped his phone into his pocket and shook his head in a sad attempt to clear the angry thoughts clawing at his head. An itch followed shortly after, so he scratched the back of his head as the chair next to him was pulled back, the screeching of the little metal circle against the scuffed tiles grating at his restless mind._

_“Hey. Mullet giving you trouble?”_

_“Shut up, Lance,” Keith sighed, eyebrow twitching when Lance’s infamous cackle assaulted his ears._

_Why didn’t Shiro call him Christmas. There was a gift, yet no call came. And he texts a week later?_

_A cough replaced the hyena’s laugh a second later. “So...guess what?”_

_Keith angled his head to glare at Lance, eyebrows kneading together. He wasn’t in the mood for this. “Chicken butt?”_

_Lance slapped his hand across his forehead and dragged it down his face. “No, Keith!” The teen laughed, but it was quite dry. “Not to mention that’s a very outdated respon—”_

_“Then what is it, Lance?” Keith cut him off, sinking into the seat and crossing his arms. He swore if it was a new crush of his…_

_“Welllll you see, there’s this cheerleader I’ve been noticing walk the halls lately,” Lance started while Keith thought, ‘here we go.’ “Her name is Nyma and she has these golden tresses that she wears in pigtails on the daily—but her eyes, Keith, her eyes—”_

_Keith nodded his head along, feigning interest, but in reality his mind was long gone._

5 feathers fell.

_A kid spat into a Diet Pepsi can and tossed it behind him. Keith watched it bounce twice across the school walk-way, his eyes narrowed as he leaned against the concrete ledge surrounding the front “garden.” Too bad school had just let out, rendering it too busy for a teacher to notice the skateboarder litter. Keith scowled and kicked at the gravel. He could care less about the littering, but what else was there to do but watch the foolish high schoolers trapeze around the parking lot, rushing to escape? Lance sure was taking his time getting there…_

_What was it he wanted to ask him?_

_The wind rustled the leaves on the tree centering the garden behind him, and his hair blew along with it, catching on his lashes. Keith reached up to pull back the strands, and as he looked up, he finally noticed Lance looking at him, leaning forward just so with his hands in his jacket pocket, head tilted to the side—too close for comfort._

_Keith fell back into the mulch, arms and legs flying up subsequently. He snitched his nose at the smell of the fresh mulch, but also in response to Lance’s obnoxious laughter. “Really?” he shouted, pressing his palms onto the mulch in order to push himself up. Keith blew at the bangs that fell into his face when he sat up, glaring at Lance. The taller teen had straightened his posture now and was hugging his stomach, still laughing. What an ass._

_“You know you look kinda cute like that, mullet,” Lance flashed his signature shark-tooth grin, eyes gleaming as he dropped his arms to his side. Keith scowled and hoped Lance didn’t notice the slight blush building._

_“Do you need a hand, princess?” he continued, stretching his arm out to offer Keith his hand. Of course, Keith didn’t take too kindly to snarky quips, so naturally he slapped his hand away and stood on his own._

_“No thank you.” Lance laughed again. He stepped forward and leaned against the concrete edge beside Keith, who was dusting his hands off his jeans. Lance’s laughing had ceased and he watched Keith until the boy sat down. Keith watched a group of girls enter the nearest bus so that he didn’t have to look at Lance._

_“So how’s life been treating you, mullet?” Keith sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his palms against the concrete to raise his legs up in front of him, leaning back just slightly._

_“Nothing ever changes, Lance. You know that.”_

_When it seemed like Lance was going to counter his statement with another stupid question, Keith snapped his head to the side and squinted at Lance. “Would you cut to the chase already? You know I have to take a bus to the orphanage, so just spit it out already and stop wasting your breath.” Keith stuck out his bottom lip at the end when Lance genuinely looked offended by his snippy response. “I just don’t want to have to call the caretaker again and explain myself.”_

_Lance released a big puff of air and kicked at the gravel, just as Keith had done earlier. Keith tilted his head to the side and raised a brow at him, but Lance was too busy watching the gravel roll to pay him any mind. “Well? I’m waiting, Lance.” The teen sighed and straightened his back, running a hand through his short, almond-colored hair. He worried his bottom lip and stared up at the sky, seemingly watching the clouds roll by._

_A breeze blew Keith’s hair into his face again, and he whacked at the strands that caught in his lashes again. “If you’re just going to sigh about it, I have a bus to catc—”_

_“Keith.”_

_Lance had angled his head so that he was looking at Keith, staring into his eyes like he could see through him. It kind of made Keith nervous. The dark-haired teen held his wild hair back from his face, halting his attempt to keep it behind his ear in favor of staring at Lance with wide eyes._

_“I...I think I like you,” Lance started, casting his eyes down. He bit his lower lip and drummed his fingers along the concrete. Keith’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t mean what Keith thought he was saying, right?_

_“Wait, what?” Keith stumbled. He was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were. He stared at Lance’s drumming fingers, so close to his own hand that rested on the concrete edge. He clenched those fingers into a fist. “What do you mean, Lance?” he continued, slowly._

_Lance sighed for the umpteenth time and brought his hands into his lap, looking away from the garden and swallowing. He started wringing his hands and turned his head to watch them, scraping his heels against the sidewalk at the same time. “I mean just that, Keith. What do you think?”_

_When Keith offered no response, Lance snorted and lolled his head back. “Seriously, Keith? Do I really have to explain?” He tilted his head to look at Keith, right eye closed. The other teen was still holding his hair to the side and staring at Lance with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape. Lance swallowed again. “Okay geez—I like you more than a friend, Keith. Was that so hard to figure out?” Lance ceased wringing his hands and placed them on either side of himself, puting at Keith. Though it seemed impossible, the boy’s eyes grew even wider._

_Then Keith suddenly stood up, hands clenched into fists at his side._

_“Y-you don’t mean that,” Keith mumbled, breathing hard. “Y-you’re really just here to tell me about o-one of your c-crushes—right, Lance?_ Right?” _Keith swallowed and stared down at Lance, who had furrowed his brows and stopped scraping his shoes against the gravel._

_“Keith, what? No! I-I mean, seriously?” Lance gawked. Apparently Keith questioning whenever he was actually serious was new to him. Lance stood then, stepping toward Keith to lay a hand on his shoulder. Keith shrugged it off and stepped back. “Are you okay, Keith? Keith.”_

.  
.

_Sendak’s sunken cheeks and beady eyes resurfaced from Keith’s buried memories, but his words stuck out the most. “Look at how pathetic you are, lying on the ground there, emo boy,” Sendak had laughed, pressing his foot onto Keith’s back so that he couldn’t rise from the mud._

_“No one will ever_ love _you, Keith. That’s why you’re an orphan—because orphans are unwanted. Nobody can or will_ love _an orphan.”_

.  
.

_“Keith?” Keith’s eyes snapped up to lock with Lance’s worried ones. He hadn’t noticed how bad he was sweating. “You don’t...you don’t mean it. Nobody wants an orphan,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. Lance touched his shoulder._

_Keith blinked, then realized that tears were beginning to sting the corners of his eyes. He snapped his head back up and stepped back, shaking his head at Lance. “I-I have to go…!”_

_“No, Keith! God damnit, wait up—it’s not what you th—” Lance tried to shout after him, but Keith was already on the move, running as far as he could from the school, anywhere to get away from his betrayer._

_He had forgotten all about the bus, and had run straight to Shiro’s apartment complex—where Shiro no longer lived._

6 feathers fall

_Shiro: Hey buddy. I heard you dropped out of school. What’s going on?_

A feather grew back

_Shiro: How would you feel about moving to Japan with me?_

20 feathers...fel—

Keith’s eyes snapped open and he gasped for air, sweat trickling down the side of his face, his temple, his back—

He rolled over to his side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breath deep, even breaths. His back burned. He reached his free arm behind to scratch at his back, then grit his teeth from the pain that flared. Sitting up, Keith shook his arms to loosen up, allowing his wings to push out, release themselves from the their prison behind his skin. He crossed his arms over his abdomen and, grabbing the end of his t-shirt, pulled the shirt up and over his head, ruffling his hair in the process. Keith huffed, blowing at his bangs after he tossed the shirt across the room.

The wings unfurled behind him, alerting Keith of their majestic presence by tickling his cheek. He turned his head to look behind him, mouth agape. It looked like he had lost some more feathers without realizing it.

Twisting his torso to get a more effective look, Keith gently ran his fingers along the edge of his left wing, frowning at the coarse touch. Were his wings losing their softness too? The end of the feather lit up red, then a flame sparked. _Just great_ , Keith thought and stood up, feeling bile begin to rise. He booked it toward the bathroom across the hall, left wing half-way engulfed by the flames now.

A feather drifted to the carpet behind him, falling to ash when it touched ground.

 

At five am Keith was lifting Shiro’s weights to no particular sequence of sets. The only thing that was routine about his workout was when he hit the treadmill at 5:45 am. He was sweating away and battling the urge to fall prey to his thoughts when movement caught his eye. Keith looked to the apartment door and watched Shiro enter, saying nothing. His headphones would have made it difficult to carry a conversation anyway.

Shiro carried two plastic bags with him and a duffel bag was slung across his back. The bulky man set the bags on top of the white kitchen table and headed straight for the fridge. Immediately after he opened the door, Shiro stuck his foot out to hold it open and leaned back to shuffle around the bags, pulling out what were clearly vegetables from the bag. _Yum._

Keith made no move to end his run early. Instead, he continued to watch Shiro put ingredients away, waiting for the man to actually greet him instead of ignoring his obvious presence. Keith wasn’t exactly quiet when working out.

When all the groceries were put away, Shiro pulled the duffel over his head and placed it onto the table where the plastic bags had just been. The duffel was opened immediately after, and a laptop case retrieved from the bag after a few seconds of shuffling. Shiro parked his caboose onto one of the island table stools and released the laptop from its case. He lifted the top and pressed the On key, then rested his hands on his lap, waiting for the laptop to boot up. Keith narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth, seething.

After pressing the end button, Keith yanked his headphones from his ears and glared at Shiro, trying to walk out the red high from the fast-paced run he’d just suddenly stopped. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the patience to walk for very long. “Really, Shiro?” Keith shouted between huffs, panting and his face still flared.

When Shiro made no move to respond and simply tapped away at his laptop, Keith threw his arms up into the air and stopped walking, the treadmill pulling him back until he stumbled off the end of it. “This is so fucking stupid,” Keith muttered, chucking his ear buds across the exercise area as he stormed toward the stairwell. Evidently it was going to be another normal morning in the Shirogane complex.

_Shiro: You can start a new life here. Perhaps even start a band._

5 more feathers

Stomping up the steps could not be made any more obvious, yet Shiro continued to ignore his existence. Clothes were already set up in the bathroom, so Keith headed straight for it, slamming the door behind him. Leaning against it he sighed, sinking slightly and looking at his feet. Why couldn’t he just say hello? It’s not like Keith did anything to upset him.

Did he?

Not wanting to dwell on it, Keith pushed off the door and made for the sink to brush his teeth before facing the showerhead. That bastard only wanted to sprinkle him with warm water when it felt like it.

—

“I’m heading out,” Keith said on his way to the coat hanger. He tugged his favorite jacket off the hook and slipped it on, glancing back to the kitchen table. Shiro took a swig of what appeared to be a glass of orange juice. Keith scowled when Shiro went right back to typing away. What was so important about that software that he couldn’t spare a second to say goodbye?

Walking around the table, Keith glared at Shiro as he crossed over to the fridge. Even when he opened it to take one of Shiro’s pre-bottled protein mixes, the guy still didn’t spare him a glance. “And I’m taking one of your nasty concoctions,” Keith said, wiggling the bottle in the air to further illustrate this. Still no response from Shiro--not even an ‘mmhmmm.’ Keith rolled his eyes and scowled, storming past the aisle with his hands in the air. 

“Whatever, Shiro. Enjoy your research project that’s clearly more important than acknowledging my existence,” Keith finished on his way out, voice laced with sarcasm. He slammed the apartment door behind him after calling out a “buh-bye!” cali-girl style.

2 feathers fall

—

“Yumoto station five minutes away.”

Keith lifted his head from where it rested against the vibrating, subway window when the conductor called for his station destination. He rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. The window wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place to rest his head, and craning his neck was definitely not good for him either.

One of the passengers gripping the a hanging handle in the aisle stared at him, so Keith clutched onto his bag’s strap. Subways were like the only places where crime went down, though it was normally in the form of subtle harassment. Even so, he didn’t like being stared at.

“Yumoto station in two minutes.”

Keith stood and wobbled on over to grab at the empty hanger nearest to the exit, still gripping one of drawstrings to his bag with his other hand. If the passenger was still staring, Keith wouldn’t have known since he no longer paid him any mind.

“Arriving at Yumoto station.”

_There’s a silencing  
As the machine arrives here_

Once Keith stepped onto the exit platform, he breathed a sigh of relief. No more creeps—at least for a little while, that is. Since he had a bit of a wait for the Tozan bus to arrive, Keith decided to go get a drink from the vending machine before heading up to ground level and outside (that protein shake was long gone now).

There surprisingly weren’t that many choices in the vending machine for the time of day, but at least there was a Minute Maid Fruit juice for him to pick. Otherwise, he probably would’ve just gone for the Piccoco Sweat. Keith inserted some yen coins into the machine and pressed the code for the Minute Maid, tapping his foot when the machine took its sweet time processing the request. These machines must have been old or something, regardless of the fact that looked brand new. Then again, most machines were as clean as a whistle in Japan. The drink finally dispensed a couple minutes later.

After grabbing the juice, Keith hopped up the staircase toward the outside light. Birds chirped all around, and a gentle breeze tickled his cheek when he reached the top. The sounds served as an instant relaxer for Keith. While this was one of the reasons why Keith went out to Hakone, it wasn’t the only one. Though he mainly went for the natural environment to escape his home stress, there was also something about this place he discovered a year back when hiking past the Hakone shrine. The shrine workers had warned him not to venture too far lest he get lost or attacked by rabid monkeys, but the hike was relatively safe and his discovery made it all the more worth it.

If only he could pinpoint what the strange energy emanating from it was all about.

The Tozan bus took less time to arrive than the last time Keith had taken it. It was a nice surprise, almost making Keith’s day better. He boarded the bus shortly after it stopped, and chose the seat closest to the front. What was the point of going to the back when it was a short ride anyway?

_I feel it pulling me  
I feel the past that’s died there ___

__  
__  


By the time the bus stopped closest to the Hakone shrine, Keith had finished his Minute Maid beverage. He’d have to get the water from the testy vending machine just before the descent to the shrine now. Hopefully it didn’t eat his yen like the last time.

“ _Arigato gozaimasu*_ ,” Keith said after dropping an extra coin into the collection container. He played with one of his drawstrings as he descended the stairs and hopped out onto the sidewalk. The bus shut the doors as it started back off down the road, and Keith crossed the pavement soon after.

The Torii stood on the other side, not far from where the width of the road stopped. Wild shrubbery flanked the gate’s sides while the passage under was carefully paved. A couple of vines trickled along the pillars as if they were keeping the Torii rooted to the Earth. Keith bowed his head walking under, watching the bricks fall behind when he stepped over them. 

The shrine was quite a bit of a way from the Torii, the brick path leading down a slight hill to a drastic drop accompanied by maroon, wooden stairs. Keith didn’t go that far, however. Instead, he stopped at the nature fountain, where clean water dribbled down a hole in a rock seated atop another rock carved into a wide bowl. He dipped his hands into the water pooled inside the rock’s cavity. While walking away from the cleansing station, Keith rubbed his hands together and mumbled under his breath, willing away any impurities. He stepped over the path and into the surrounding woods, searching for the marker that started his hiking path. The red handkerchief he’d tied around a slim branch on a rather small pine stuck out to him about two hundred paces later.

While Keith had never thought the cloth would come in handy, it had turned out to serve quite a purpose in the end. He tapped the branch for good measure before turning to its right and moving on. The branch shook slightly after.

After some serious trekking and even careful scaling on the side of a large hill, Keith finally arrived at his destination: a fifteen-foot, mossy hill with a tree on top and, most notably, a cavern opening. Some stray vines dangled before the rather small, dark entrance. Keith smiled ever-so-slightly as he approached the cavern, stopping only to retrieve his flashlight from his bag.

___I hear it calling me  
"You can come alive here."_ _ _

Everytime he came about six feet to the cavern, the hairs stood at the back of his neck, and the atmosphere felt thicker—eerie. And yet he had no fear coming closer, and especially not when he entered. In fact, a calmness would fall over him the second he did enter, embrace the unknown.

There was something about the cave that intrigued him. If not the energy he felt, the strange carvings on the wall mystified him, made him crave for knowledge. Who—or what—lived in this cavern? Or _still_ lives?

___I hear it beckoning  
Until I am inside_ _ _

Keith ran his hand along the wall after entering, aiming his flashlight at no spot in particular. The small, tribalesque carving of what may have been a mechanical lion was where he had started running his hand along the wall, feeling the dry dirt. The crusted dirt beneath him sometimes felt like it was vibrating, adding to the mystical vibe that kept Keith coming. 

Keith flashed his light down the center to see where his favorite spot was, his hand slowly falling from the wall to rest at his side. He walked toward the large cushion of moss seated in a small cavity within the opposite wall, then sat down on it. Crossing his legs, Keith closed his eyes—after laying the flashlight beside the moss—and relaxed his shoulders, trying to go into some sort of meditative state even though he had no idea how to actually meditate. 

When the flashlight started to flicker, Keith snapped open his eyes and sighed. The batteries hadn’t been replaced in a good couple of months, so it made sense. After standing up and stretching, he decided then that it was time to leave.

And face whatever complaint Shiro had about his love triangle situation.

A feather grew back.

—

From Varadero, Cuba all the way to Fukushima, Japan, Lance travelled to attend a distinguished flight school the students all simply called, the Garrison. A couple of his friends at his high school would talk about possibly attending the school someday, all dreaming about piloting black ops-type planes or jets. But of course, most of them weren’t thinking about the reality of it, only taking away what they had accomplished in their high-tech console games.

While Lance had always dreamed of going to flight school, he never once thought that he would end up going to the garrison—let alone get accepted into the program as a pilot! He really owed it all to his elder sister for motivating and convincing him to try to apply for it, though.

“Lance, you better not fuck it up this time,” said Pidge, pulling Lance from his daydream of his hometown. Pidge was a short, dirty-blonde female-disguised-as-a-male (Lance still didn’t catch onto this yet, though) who was assigned to his flight team as the communications specialist. She had quite the attitude whenever it came to training, but Lance didn’t mind since it kept their work loose or entertaining. “You know I strive to be the best.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut your trap already I’m trying to focus here,” Lance responded with a wave of his hand, eyes closed. He peeped open one eye to get a good look at her “I’m-not-in-the-mood-for-this” face and laughed, clutching his stomach and leaning over the simulation plane’s control deck.

“Relax,” Lance continued, dropping his hands into his lap and leaning back into his seat. “I’ve got a better plan this time.” He winked at her, stretching his arms above his head. Pidge groaned and smacked her head against the back of her seat while simultaneously slapping her hand over her face.

She was dragging her hand down her face when Hunk, the engineer assigned to their team and Lance’s instant best friend, spoke up from the back. “As long as you don’t go too fast, I won’t feel compelled to lose my meal and then yay—we pass!” Hunk said, throwing up his arms for emphasis.

Lance twisted his torso to look over the side of his chair at Hunk, sitting comfortably right behind him. He gripped the side of his seat for support and brought his knees up onto the seat. “You puke the second the movement starts, Hunk! You seriously need to get a hold of your motion sickness, buddy.”

Hunk lolled his head around and mirrored Pidge’s prior groan. “I know, I know. And I swear I’m getting better—I have more confidence that I’m gonna hold out this time...if you don’t try to pull a fast one on the big boss again.”

Lance threw up his arms and scowled. “Bro, you know we can’t succeed if we don’t take down all the targe—”

“Actually,” Pidge started, cutting him off. “Commander Iverson hinted at a way to capture the enemies and take them in as prisoners of war.” Lance whipped his head to his left to glare at Pidge.

“No, that is not how this works! Everyone knows you have to take out the leader first, then his army will fall to your comm—”

“Simulation start in T minus five seconds.”

Lance and Hunk snapped their head back to look up at the intercom, while Pidge rolled her eyes and buckled-in, pulling the seat forward. “If you two don’t get into your positions right now, I am not helping you sneak out for ‘midnight snack time.’ Now come on—we have a ships to blast,” she grinned, a little too maliciously. Hunk groaned and clutched his stomach while Lance shouted in glee (“woohoo!”), whirling around to buckle in and grip the steering handles.

“I feel sick to my stomach already…”

—

“If you had just _listened_ to me when I told you to _wait_ , Lance, we would’ve had the bastard,” Pidge practically screamed, her head tilted back and both hands covering her face while she walked alongside Hunk and Lance down the exit corridor. Hunk was drawing his arm across his sweating forehead, and Lance was marching ahead of them, arms crossed and nose raised.

“Okay but I totally _had him_ , and you know!” he snapped, then craned his neck to glance back at Hunk. “If the big guy hadn’t of gone all seafood on us and done his job, our ship would’ve been able to take that last blast just fine.” Hunk dropped his arm and gawked at him.

“Yeah but you were zipping around like a maniac, what did you expect?!” Hunk retorted

“Alright,” Pidge stepped up to match Lance’s pace, waving her arms about. “I am not about to listen to the same argument we have every time we fail, so I’m going to change now,” she finished, conducting a left-phase to walk curtly down the connecting corridor. “Later, losers!”

Lance scoffed at her abrupt dismissal and halted in his place, spreading his legs apart. He pointed at her as she walked away. “Oh yeah? Well you’re the worst communicator ever!”

Hunk slapped his forehead, standing a couple feet from Lance’s left now. “That was so weak, Lance.” Lance straightened his posture and crossed his arms again. He looked at Hunk with a pout.

“I’m too frustrated to think of anything better right now. Can’t we just go change already?” he suggested.

“Or, we could get food first and then change. Beat the rush to the mess hall,” Hunk grinned, placing his hands on his hips.

“I like that idea better,” Lance responded, giving Hunk two finger-guns.

Hunk stepped up to Lance’s side and they started down the hall, carrying on the same conversation about what food they liked and hated provided at the mess hall, then discussed when they were actually going to go to Okinawa where the food was reportedly the best.

They ended up taking a slightly different route to the mess hall than they normally did, lost in their banter about squid tentacles being legit food or not. The corridor they had incidentally entered contained various glass-panes cut into the wall. Most of them showed moving machinery running off some code to create parts. Lance and Hunk didn’t pay any attention to them, so they made no effort to identify whatever it was the machines were working on crafting.

Behind one glass in particular were a couple of what looked to be scientists wandering about with flasks and speculating over microscopes. At first, Lance and Hunk had treated this room like all the others—that is, until Lance happened to glance over and spot a strangely familiar “scientist.” He stopped to watch the man go about his business, wondering where he had seen the man’s white streak atop short-cropped, black hair before. Even the man’s partner was somewhat familiar, his scruffy dirty blond hair reminding Lance of Pidge in a way.

Hunk nearly walked on without Lance, still spewing his thoughts on the slimy appetizer when he had turned his head to look at Lance, only to realize that he was no longer beside him. 

“Lance?” Hunk said, looking behind him. He raised his eyebrows when Lance didn’t respond and walked over to join him. “Why did you stop?” Hunk watched Lance rub his chin for a minute, then turned to look at the “scientists” along with him. He sighed. “If they’re not developing better food for the union, I don’t want anything to do with them.” 

Lance threw back his head and laughed. “Seriously Hunk? Man all you think about is your stomach sometimes,” he said, wiping at his eye. “Okay let’s get out of here—I guess I just thought I recognized one of them was all.” 

Hunk patted Lance on the back and just as they were about to head back down the hall again, the beefy “scientist” with the white hair-streak lifted his head just in time to catch sight of them. Normally the two would’ve shrugged it off, but apparently the guy found them worthy of study and pointed them out to his partner.

Sweat started to bead at Hunk’s temple, and he gave Lance a few swift nudges to his arm. “Uhhh, I think that’s out cue to split—don’t ya think, Lance?”

Lance gave a couple of curt nods and nudged Hunk back. “Yep, yep—let’s skedaddle!” he said, swiveling on his feet and taking big, careful strides down the hall. Hunk naturally followed after him.

They didn’t stop the first time they were shouted at by who they assumed was white-streak. In fact, they instead picked up their pace until they were practically jogging toward the door to the next hall.

“I said _stop_ , Lance! I’m not going to call command.” That got Lance to cease his escape real quick, his blood running cold. How the hell did the white labcoat know his name? Evidently the white-streak really was familiar.

“Why did you stop?” Hunk whispered to him, panting. He glanced back at the “scientist” standing still some twenty feet or so behind them. “And how does he know your name?” Lance ignored Hunk’s question and slowly turned around to stare at white-streak, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do I know you?” Lance crossed his arms and pursed his lips, still trying to figure out where he’d seen white-streak before. He could vaguely recall holding an image of him, but he couldn’t remember why.

The “scientist” smiled after a beat of silence, his partner stopping to his right soon after. “Why don’t you get out of here sometime, Lance. Perhaps you’ll discover something.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Lance shouted, uncrossing his arms and making to approach white-streak, but luckily Hunk had the foresight to grab onto his arm, keeping Lance to his side.

White-streak waved his hand about—only it wasn’t an actual hand, but a silver prosthetic instead. “There’s a band called the Blades of Marmora performing around here on your next weekend off,” he started while turning around, his partner following him but occasionally looking back as they headed for the research room’s entrance. “I think you and your friend should go check them out—perhaps you’ll find yourself liking them.”

The two “scientists” reached the door and made to go inside, white-streak’s partner entering first while Lance struggled against Hunk’s grip (“What’s the big deal, big guy? I feel like he’s threatening me man…!”). White-streak hung just outside the doorway to look back at them. “Just a suggestion,” he shouted. “Carry on!”

Lance ceased his struggle to release himself from captivity, resorting to simply huffing. Hunk frowned and released his hold of him, tapping his chin after he stepped back. Lance shook out his arms in rather violent, quick motions as he walked around in a circle for a few beats.

“What was that all about?” Hunk began, cupping his elbow with his free hand while he continued to tap his chin. Lance grunted and walked past him, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, Hunk—let’s just get that food before the other cadets steal first dibs.” Hunk dropped his hands to lay at his side and had to jog a little to catch up to Lance.

“O-okay, whatever you say. But I am hungry so yeah, let’s hurry!”

—

The rest of the week went by in a flash, with Lance spending his nights mulling over what the “scientist” had suggested as well as what he meant by it. Was it some kind of riddle? He swore that guy and Pidge would get along just well.

By the time his free weekend had finally rolled around, Lance had spent the majority of his saturday out “sightseeing” and hunting for the best place to dine with Hunk. 

When Hunk and Lance had just finished their appetizer (they decided to brave the calamari after talking about it for so long after their last simulation lab), still waiting on their entrees to arrive, Lance overheard a couple of girls mention “the Blades of Marmora” in the middle of their idle conversation. Curious, Lance looked behind him, as if that would increase his hearing range.

“What did they sing last time you saw them, Naomi,” the short-haired Japanese girl asked her longer-haired friend.

“Well I mean they don’t have that many albums out, but they did sing some of my favorites so I think it was worth. Plus, the drummer looked particular good in that outfit, let me tell you,” Naomi laughed, twirling some hair around her index finger.

Lance deemed the conversation a waste of time to listen to—the girls weren’t even that cute and probably too young to safely flirt with anyway—so he looked back to his empty plate and drummed his fingers across the table. He looked up when he felt like eyes were boring into him, though, only to confirm that yes, Hunk was staring at him.

“What?” Lance raised an eyebrow and said.

Hunk shook his head. “I should be asking you that,” he chuckled. “Why were you looking at those girls?” Hunk suddenly stopped chuckling and widened his eyes. “No wait—don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” 

That got Lance to laugh. “It’s actually not what you’re thinking, buddy—they’re too young anyway.” It was Hunk’s turn to raise an eyebrow now.

“And since when has age stopped you before?” Lance nearly snorted after that, slapping the table and looking down at his plate again, face heating up.

“Seriously, Hunk? I’m not that bad!” Lance laughed it out for a minute before looking back up at Hunk, leaning over the table. “Am I?” he whispered. Hunk rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

“Sometimes, yeah.” Lance pouted. “No, Lance, you’re not that bad...mostly.”

“Come on, Hunk!” Hunk laughed and shook his head.

“I’m kidding, Lance!” He smiled and waited for Lance to calm down before continuing. “But seriously—what was that about?”

Lance sighed and stared at the tiny sake menu resting in the middle of the table. “It’s really nothing.” He shrugged, and when Hunk gave him his knowing stare, Lance threw his head back and groaned. “Okay, okay!” He brought his head back down and rubbed at the back of his neck. Those iron seats weren’t the most comfortable things to lay one’s neck on. “I heard them talking about that ‘Blades of Marmora’ band that white-streak suggested to me and that’s it, honestly. It just caught me by surprise.”

Hunk nodded his head, bringing his hand up to his chin to rub it—just like he did when they had encountered white-streak. “Uh-huh. And you still didn’t tell me what that was all about, but that’s okay I guess.” Lance rolled his eyes at him and Hunk sighed. But then he suddenly straightened his posture and brought his hands down onto the table. Lance jumped in his seat, eyes wide.

“Jesus, Hun—”

“Hey, aren’t they playing tonight?” Hunk interjected, eyes gleaming. Lance furrowed his brows.

“Hunk, you’re not seriously thinki—”

“Why don’t we go see them?” Lance smacked his forehead and groaned, but Hunk clapped his hands like it was the brightest idea ever. “I mean come on Lance, it’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“No,” Lance said, bringing his hand down his face until it was completely off. “I am not spending our saturday night in a sweaty crowd while my ears are assaulted by what is probably hard-rock or even worse—metal.” Hunk pouted again, sticking his bottom lip out as far as it would go. “No,” Lance repeated, pointing at his lip. “And don’t you pull that out of the bag—you can’t convince me! Besides, why should I humor that jerky ‘scientist?’”

Hunk refused to let up on his pout, even going as far as to rest his face on his fists and bat his lashes at Lance. The fluttering lashes at least got a laugh out of Lance, even if it was dry. What really got to Lance, however, was when Hunk refused to talk to him, even when their entrees had arrived—he didn’t even critique the meal like he usually did.

After far too many beats of silence passed still when Lance had finished his meal, he sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “Okay fine,” he said, dropping his hands to lay on the table. “You win. We’ll go to the concert.” Hunk’s face lit-up, and he stopped picking at his food.

Before Hunk could speak, Lance held up a hand. “But only under one condition,” he continued, eyes closed and nose lifted up. “You have to promise to keep the sweaty people away from my beautiful skin and, if I get too annoyed by the loud music, we’re leaving early. Capisce?” Hunk nodded, though it wasn’t without some attitude via a couple of snorts from him.

“What? You know I’m far too beautiful to be tainted by raging metal-heads.”

—

“I’m surprised they haven’t sold out yet,” said a young woman to who Lance assumed was her date. More and more people started to crowd the stage-pit area, and Lance was more annoyed by the second each time a guy drew within two feet of him.

“Huuuuunk,” Lance seethed, nudging him.

“Give it a chance, Lance. The opening acts haven’t even started yet.” Hunk belched, swirling his soda. Lance rolled his eyes and glared at the stage.

.

The opening acts weren’t so bad, save for the fact that the genre was just as Lance had expected: some sort of hard-rock. The only other problem was that he had no idea what they were saying half the time, being that they were Japanese bands (they were in Japan after all). He lived for the few times they sung or even spoke in English. Hunk didn’t seem to mind the music, though, as he was nodding his head along as if he had a clue what they were saying. Apparently Hunk could act.

When what Lance assumed was the Blades had burst out onto the stage amidst flame shooters and rolling fog, Lance was befuddled by the gothic esque outfits they wore, and especially the heavy make-up that even he could see from his center position in the crowd. 

At first, Lance wasn’t all too troubled by them—the music didn’t sound bad, though it was still foreign to him. It was when the spotlights had switched to a more illuminating color that Lance stopped bobbing his head to stare at the lead singer. The entertainer was standing on a risen, centered platform atop the stage now, spreading his arms out for the crowd to cheer, holding the microphone to the side.

Perhaps it was the mullet. The black mullet. It was giving Lance the heebie-jeebies.

But when the singer spoke English into the microphone, that was when Lance froze in place, eyes wide. He started to really sweat himself. The voice—and the mullet—took him back to a safe yet somber place and time.

.  
.

Keith allowed himself to actually smile a little, feeling good about himself after that first number. The crowd appeared to have really enjoyed it, too, cheering harder than he’d ever heard one cheer before. “Hello everybody,” he started in Japanese. “If you don’t already know, we’re the Blades of Marmora and you just heard our newest single, ‘Daydream.’ Next we’re gonna surprise you with one our first songs,” he continued, jumping down from the platform when the crowd cheered again. When he got to the next high-raise, he repeated what he’d already said in English. “For any English fans,” he laughed, looking over the crowd.

He wasn’t searching for anyone in particular, of course, but nevertheless, he was still surprised to see Lance’s face flicker about, blocked by a larger male with a yellow head-scarf tied into a headband. He looked pale and generally vacant.

Keith shook his head, the frown away, and smiled at the crowd again, jumping back.

His mind was obviously playing tricks on him again.

_“Alright Lance, how do you like them apples?” Keith shouted, throwing his arms up and dropped the Playstation controller onto the blanket. He had finally beaten Lance. Granted it was a game that relied a little more on chance, aka Mario Party, but still, he had won for once—and he never looked so proud before._

_Keith angled his neck to look at Lance with wide, gleaming eyes and cheeks ever-so-slightly pink. “Now you have to give up your videogame king title,” he said with a smile._

_It was tiny, but he was actually smiling. Lance’s heart skipped a beat and he widened his eyes, mouth agape. Keith chuckled and looked back at the screen. Lance had to shake his head clear before responding. “I wouldn’t say_ that. _You still have way more games to win, Mullet!” Keith groaned at the insulting nickname. Lance laughed._

.

_“You don’t...you don’t mean it. Nobody wants an orphan,” Keith mumbled, looking at the ground. Lance touched his shoulder._

_Keith blinked, and Lance saw tears beginning to form at the corners of Keith’s eyes. Keith snapped his head back up and stepped back, shaking his head at Lance. “I-I have to go…!”_

_“No, Keith!” Lance started shouting. “God damnit, wait up—it’s not what you th—” Lance tried to stop him with his words, but Keith was already on the move, running farther and farther away. Lance fell back to sitting on the cement ledge, watching Keith disappear around the bend. He suddenly felt nauseous, and his heart ached._

_What had he done?_

.

 

“Lance?” Hunk shouted, waving his hand in front of Lance’s face. “Earth to Laaaance,” he continued, drawing his eyebrows together. However, Lance finally turned his head a little, looking at Hunk with a gaping mouth. “You okay, buddy? You don’t look so good. Actually you look really pale, though that may just be the light?”

“...Hunk,” Lance whispered, voice suddenly hoarse. “I think...I think I’m gonna pull a Hunk,” he continued, louder then. Hunk didn’t get a chance to respond, though, because the next second Lance was pushing through the crowd of fans, shouting “sorry” over and over again until he was outside and the gentle, cool night breeze from caressing his flushed face.

Feeling a the beginning rise of bile, Lance covered his mouth and ran past the concert building, making a sharp turn into the nearest alley way.

Hunk found him a few minutes later, his hand resting on the outside of the concert building as he gagged at the chipped concrete beneath him, the dumpster just to his immediate left. Hunk approached him cautiously and laid his hand on Lance’s back, rubbing circles into it.

“I was gonna say that that was another lame joke,” Hunk started, looking up at the cloudless, dark sky. “But that would’ve been uncalled for I suppose.” Hunk looked back down at Lance, brows furrowing again.

“Man, that was expensive food too.” Lance choked a little at that. “Take it easy, buddy. Don’t laugh if it makes it worse.” Hunk frowned when Lance drew his arm across his mouth. He was never going to hear the end of it the next day, that it was all Hunk’s fault Lance tainted his beautiful skin with bile (even if it was his own).

“S’okay, Hunk,” Lance drawled out. He coughed and shook, and it wasn’t a good while until he stood up again, flicking his wrists about. Hunk made sure to keep a good distance from Lance since he was doing that.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunk suggested, wiping his sweaty palms down his thighs. Lance shook his head slowly before turning back around to face Hunk. he coughed again.

“No,” Lance started, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean...yes, but not...yet.” Lance looked up at Hunk and frowned. “Let’s just say,” he coughed, “that I think...I know the...singer.” Hunk’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, curiosity piqued.

“Oh?” Lance waved his hand at Hunk.

“I think it was Keith. My old mate.” He glared at Hunk. “No questions until I’m clean—capisce?”

“Capisce,” Hunk grinned. He walked over to Lance and patted him on the back. “Now let’s get to the garrison—I’m sure Pidge will wanna hear all about this.”

“Hunk!” Lance coughed.

“Kidding!” Hunk winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - "Thank you" in a respectful manner since the driver is a stranger.
> 
> Part Two, A Reunion of Epic Proportions, will be posted the second week of May :)


End file.
